


Godless

by thexonexwhoxwanders



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Eventual Romance, F/M, Strong Female Characters, at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14588637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thexonexwhoxwanders/pseuds/thexonexwhoxwanders
Summary: To Thor and Loki, Zora is an ancient Asgardian legend come to life. To Zora, Fate just decided to toss her a curveball and send her on the adventure of a lifetime. But why, WHY, did that adventure have to always include the fallen Asgardian prince? Loki/OC ,Thor-OC friendship.In other words, Loki takes over the planet, tries to kill Zora, and things take an unexpected turn from there.





	Godless

**Author's Note:**

> You might also find this work on fanfiction.net posted under the same name. 
> 
> I'm really sorry if the formatting is wonky - this is my first time posting on AO3 and I'm still getting used to it.

 

** Prologue **

 

They’d heard the stories a hundred times throughout their childhood: tales of a woman from another realm saving Asgard from its end, its destruction at the hands of the Hela and her minions. A children’s story of sorts, told from the smiling lips of the queen back when he and Thor had crammed into one of their beds for their nightly tale, eyes wide with wonder at the legend, both young boys concocting some imagined version of the woman who would save them.

Thor always pictured her to be strong, muscled, blonde-haired and blue eyed – his near match in all but gender. She would be the princess of some far-off land, some realm they had never before visited, come to save Asgard and make Thor her king. King of the realms with the War-Breaker at his side.

Loki had always tried hard not to laugh at his brother’s made-up fairytale. From his point of view, Loki was the more pragmatic and realistic of the two. He simply _understood_ , where Thor merely saw. This woman, the War-Breaker, would not be some princess with fancy coils in her hair, strong as a bull and just as stubborn. She’d be smart. Talented. A strategical-thinker who didn’t run blindly into battle for the sake of the kill. She’d be clever and calm and confident, but not egotistical, not rash. The lady of his dreams also understood, where others only saw.

Neither boy was right, of course – their imaginings of this mysterious woman developing, breaking, restarting over the years. Thor had grown wary of her – for _he_ was Asgard’s hero, was he not? Loki only grew more obsessed. In his adult years, he would come to recognize the woman as what she was – a fable, a tall tale, a creature that could only ever exist inside the recesses of his mind. But there was still that boyish wonder within him, some sort of misplaced hope. Perhaps, he always told himself, he was wrong. Asgard’s prophets had foretold many things that had come to pass in their time. This could be one, too. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

** Part One **

  _The Things Which Fate Binds You To_

 

Zora Haque knew she’d been caught in the clutches of Fate. She’d known it from the moment Director Fury pulled her out of deep cover and thrusted her into the raging inferno that was the Avengers. Hell, she’d probably known it before that – there were always little signs, weren’t there? – but she never dared dwell on the thought. Fate wanted something from her, but she didn’t know what it was. Didn’t _want_ to know.

For all she cared, Fate could go fuck itself.

She had fought alongside Earth’s Mightiest Heroes during the Battle of New York, albeit with more hesitance than Fury had liked. It felt off. Wrong. But it was the path she was led to, in more ways than one. The aggravating signs? A.) Previously knowing Jane Foster, aka the super-genius girlfriend of the God of Thunder, which was just beyond crazy dumb luck, since they had randomly met one another in a Dark Sky park some six years prior. B.) Having partnered with Stark a year earlier on a secret Defense project that ended up going south. Literally. It got moved off to some empty location in the southern US, and Zora was posted overseas. And then the shining, gleaming letter C.) Having nearly been killed by Natasha Romanoff. _Twice_.

Zora wasn’t much of a believer in God – any God, for that matter, unless he had a hammer that could literally rain lightning – but she understood that the universe worked in its own way. Maybe she’d listened to her mom too much as a kid – _Honestly, Zora, you need to listen to your gut more. Trust that. It’s_ connected _to things, things you don’t understand yet –_ but Zora considered herself practical and realistic. And the reality was that she had been placed here for a reason, right?

The reason just happened to be very different than what anyone could have imagined. A reason Zora couldn’t run from for much longer, much as she tried.

Moreover, Zora had a job to do. But since New York had fallen, and since she and the rest of the Avengers had gone into hiding… well, that job got really fucking hard.

“Stop pacing,” Hawkeye complained, shooting Zora a glare. “You’re giving me a headache and I just got rid of the last one.”

Zora stopped mid-step and raked fingers through her hair. “She should be back. It was just a quick run – grab the supplies and return. She should be _back_ by now.”

Clint just shrugged, like he didn’t have a care in the whole goddamn universe. Like the world wasn’t currently being systematically conquered by Thor’s younger, crazier brother. “She will be. Nat can handle herself, Z. You know that.”

“Zora knows that more than anyone,” Tony piped up, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Don’t you have the scars to prove it?”

Zora flipped him off. “You’ll have some scars of your own if you don’t fuck off, Stark.”

Tony placed a hand over his heart, dramatic as ever. “Ouch, the woman has bite.”

“You wish I would bite you,” came her quick reply. Tony laughed, clutching at his stomach, before wiggling his brows at her and getting back to work. He and Bruce were building a radio, of all things – but not just any radio. One that could reach world-wide stations. Keep them up to date on what was being conquered, what was fighting back.

“I got something on surveillance,” Clint suddenly said, eyes narrowing on the screen he sat in front of. Then he smirked up at Zora. “It’s Nat. Only ten minutes late. Not bad.”

Zora bit the inside of her cheek. Ten minutes was _ten minutes_. All that time mattered – Nat knew that. She wasn’t worrying without proper cause. Something had felt off to Zora for the past couple days. _Significantly_ off.

The redhead in question lifted the hatch of the safehouse just a moment later, climbing down the rattily staircase with loaded-down arms. Zora darted forward to grab some plastic bags from the assassin. Her efforts were met with an appreciative smile.

“Things go okay?” Zora asked, eyes perusing the redhead for any sign of trouble.

Natasha shrugged. She and Zora crossed the room to unload all the bags into the cupboards. “Just fine.” She shot a glare at Clint over her shoulder. “Just took me forever to find those fucking onion-flavored chips you wanted. By the way, gross.”

A corner of Clint’s mouth lifted. “Hey, you like caviar – you can’t give me shit for this. Caviar is literally _baby fish_.”

Nat rolled her eyes. She noted Zora’s tense movements coolly. “Everything okay here?”

“Yeah,” Zora said, but inside, she was just like the rest of the Avengers – a total wreck. “Things are fine.”

“Good.”

 

000

 

               

The next day, Tony and Bruce cranked on the radio. Whether or not it was a good thing the contraption worked was a matter of perception. Strategically, it put them on better footing, but morally…

“France has followed Great Britain and Spain into surrender,” a dejected newscaster reported. “Putting the tally at twenty countries that have surrendered to – “a pause, thick and suffocating, “his majesty, King Loki’s rule.”

Zora pinched her eyes shut, her heart aching. After New York fell – and then several other cities across the U.S., including D.C. - negotiations for surrender began. It hadn’t taken very long. Thousands had died at the hands of the Chitauri, a ruthless alien species hellbent on getting blood, and it was feared that thousands more would follow. Surrender had been inevitable.

All because they had failed.

The collapse of the United States stole the hope from other countries across the world, watching the battles with baited breath, praying to whatever gods might be out there – aside from this self-proclaimed ruler, this maniac, this tyrant – that the fight would shift in their favor. In humanity’s favor. Regional politics hadn’t necessarily been forgotten, but it was widely acknowledged that regional issues fell flat against the rise of this new, very immediate threat to the world. Civil wars in Syria, throughout the continent of Africa, all placed themselves on hold. Everyone braced for what would come next. Which country would follow in surrender, or like Germany, would be almost entirely decimated.

“Relief efforts underway in Berlin have managed to pull some 2,000 people from the rubble,” the newscaster continued. “An official number of survivors has not yet been released, but it is estimated that some 10,000 may have perished. Further information to come.”

The sad thing was that in most countries that had already agreed to surrender, life went back to normal as much as it could. Hollywood was still filming. Schools kept teaching, universities reopened. Stores were stocked as they usually were, sans German products. If you didn’t live in a city that had been at war with the Chitauri, if you were just on the peripherals of what was going on, it would seem like nothing had changed at all.

That was the worst part. Half the country wanted to take up arms again, to reform the military which had been dismantled and revolt – but the other half? Their day to day lives had hardly been affected. They didn’t _understand_ – the losses seemed so far away from them, so unreal. Zora knew that would be the problem, in the end. The divide.

And she and the rest of the Avengers – save Thor – were stuck underground in this safehouse Tony had built some ten years prior, decked out with bedrooms of their own, a kitchen, a dining room… But no sunlight. No freedom. Just waiting – all that anxious waiting – and guilt. They needed to reorganize and fight back, but it had been agreed that they truly needed to regroup before that happened. When they fought back, it needed to _work_. And most importantly: they needed to find out what had happened to Thor.

Tony wouldn’t say it to the others, but Zora knew he believed Thor was dead. Could see that haunted look in his dark eyes every time the thunder god was brought up. She didn’t – Thor was a _god_ , for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t that easy to kill, even if Loki had him. It just… it couldn’t work that way. It couldn’t. 

“Furthermore, word on the Avengers has been silent,” the newscaster continued, forcing everyone’s eyes in the spacious safehouse to meet, pain and regret painted across many faces. “His majesty the King has offered a significant bounty for anyone who may have information on their whereabouts. Three weeks have passed and there hasn’t been a single sighting that we know of…”

Zora tuned him out. Her chest felt tight, her throat constricted. She couldn’t listen to this anymore – to the dejected, despondent tones of a newscaster forced to read whatever Loki told him to. Shoving to her feet, Zora ignored the worried glances shot her way and walked quietly to her room. The door shut almost silently behind her, and she breathed a sigh – of relief? Of despair? – as it did.

Things weren’t right. And they were about to get worse. She knew it, somehow, in her gut. _It’s_ connected _to things_ , her mother would say, reminding her at every chance. _Things you don’t understand yet_. That was the problem. Zora didn’t want to understand. She didn’t want to know what strings she’d gotten tangled in.

 

000

 

“I grow tired of asking you the same questions, Thor,” Loki said, his voice smooth and lilting, charming as it had ever been. But he was bored, painfully bored. A month had come and gone, and still his not-brother refused to give up the information he so desired. Information he would have no matter what. No one could stand in his way. Not even if he wanted them to.

Thor didn’t _understand,_ he only _saw_. Just as he always had. He saw the helmet on Loki’s head to be a crown. It was not. He saw the scepter in Loki’s hand to be his hold on power. Wrong still. 

Thor didn’t understand that this wasn’t what Loki wanted. None of it. But he was forbidden from speaking the words, so it mattered not. Thor could not know without seeing _and_ understanding, and a feat such as that… well, that would, quite honestly, have to be a miracle.

Loki did not believe in miracles.

“You think I’ll betray them to you, brother,” Thor said, voice hoarse and scratchy. “I will not. I’ve told you time and again. You think I lie?”

“I think you’re stubborn,” Loki said lightly, a huff on his lips. “And besides, I don’t need all of them.  I’ve already told you.  Just the one.” 

The chains holding Thor up rattled as he canted his head to look at his brother. There was no hatred there – no, there never was. There was desperation. There was fear. Sometimes, sadness. But never hatred.

That bit at Loki the most. The Chitauri general, Saadu, suggested time and again that they torture the first prince of Asgard, and he was reminded of this now. Would those eyes turn hateful if he resorted to torture? Would they look different if Thor knew what lengths Loki had to go to, just to keep that from happening?

Thor was not his brother. Not anymore. But that didn’t mean Loki would stand by and watch him be stripped of his skin. Frigga… she would never forgive him.

“What do you want with her?” Thor finally asked, his eyes narrowed, the blue of his irises dimmed in this makeshift dungeon. “She’s done nothing to earn your scorn.”

“You’re not wrong,” Loki allowed, dancing around the truth like the liesmith he was. The truth – that was also forbidden. The mad titan was nothing if not competent, prepared. Thorough. “But I want her all the same. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be back tomorrow to ask you again.”

He turned heel and made to walk away. But instead of taking the contraption Midgardian’s called the ‘elevator’, as he usually did – such an interesting thing, a never-ending curiosity – Loki called on his magic to transport him elsewhere.

That was when he felt it. The vibration. The shift. The singing little object wrapped around Thor’s neck that called out to Loki, an opera all for himself, like every single fiber that composed it longed for Loki’s touch.

Loki’s shoulders, tense, turned squarely about to face his not-brother once more. There it was again – the fear in Thor’s eyes.

“The bobble around your neck,” Loki asked quietly, impatiently. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Why hadn’t he summoned his magic to root out what he wanted? Or perhaps a better question… How did this woman leave behind a magical fingerprint? “What is it?”

 “Tis nothing,” Thor said weakly, but he was a bad liar. He was lying to the _God_ of Lies – Loki couldn’t be fooled. “Just a trinket.”

“Who’s trinket?”

Thor swallowed thickly. He knew his brother had found him out, had found the one object he had on him that would lead straight to the woman Loki wanted.

The raven-haired prince stepped forward, agile and graceful as ever, bending down to observe the necklace. The trinket was a tiny little hammer – a smaller version of mjiournir, carved from wood – hanging on a simple silver chain.

Loki tore it from Thor’s neck, holding it up to eye level, hearing it sing higher and higher. This was what he needed.

“She’ll fight you,” Thor said, the defeat weighing heavy in his tone. “She’s not what you think. She’ll fight back and you won’t be able to best her.”

Loki fixed his not-brother with an open look for the first time in months, unguarded, unmanipulated. He could read the confusion on the blonde’s face, his own visage earnestly relieved. “Good. She’ll need to.”

 

000

 

“Nat went last week,” Zora said, keeping the desperation from her tone. This place was dark – she’d seen no sunlight for a month now, and she needed _out_. “Just let me go. I can be there and back in under an hour.”

Tony shifted on the balls of his feet, his eyes narrowed on their newest recruit. “You even know your way around this town?”

Zora scoffed. “We passed one stoplight on the way here. _One_. It can’t be that hard. Besides, no matter what disguise she wears, Nat’s got a pretty memorable face. Me? No one knows me.”

Tony finally shrugged. “It’s not up to me. Why does everyone always think it’s up to me? Talk to Cap about it. I just own this billion-dollar hideout. He runs it.”

Steve, who was perched on a couch not far from the bickering pair, cocked his head up at that. “For the last time, I don’t run this place, Tony.” The man sounded tired, as if this were an argument they had more than once.

Tony crossed his arms at the war relic. “Uh, really? Then why were you barking orders at me the other day? Honestly, Rogers, you treat me like a slave.”

Steve just rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem too irritated. Honestly, though he was usually pretty annoying, Tony was the one keeping everyone… normal.

Cap’s blue eyes found Zora, and he merely nodded. “Back in under an hour,” he told her. “Or one of us comes looking.”

“Deal.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and approached the staircase leading to the hatch.

“ _Dorogaya_ ,” Natasha said, giving the newest Avenger a strange look. Zora stopped, cocked her head in waiting. “ _Be safe_ ,” the assassin warned in Russian. “ _Understand?”_

“ _Da_ ,” Zora replied, giving the female assassin a false salute. “ _I will_.”

 

000

 

Zora wasn’t in the habit of making promises she couldn’t keep. One hour tops, that was all she had. But if she were being honest with herself… she was dragging her feet. The sunlight on her face felt _so good_. So normal, amidst this fucked-up situation. She strolled to the grocery store, backpack tight on her shoulders, smile curling on her lips. Fresh air. God, it was so underrated.

When she got to the store, Zora reveled in all the unfamiliar faces. They paid her no mind – she had on a baseball cap and a rather unflattering hoodie, so she wasn’t surprised. Zora worked through the grocery list, picking up shaving cream for Nat, chips for Clint, batteries for Tony, and some nasty looking sardines for Bruce, who had admitted he had a craving for them.

It was all so pedestrian, so underwhelming, so _normal_. So of course, this was when the universe decided to throw her off balance, toss a curve ball her way, tilt the schematics of her life.

Zora turned down the aisle for makeup – figuring she’d pick something pretty up for Nat just for the hell of it – when she froze upon seeing the figure at the other end. 

He stood facing her, hands at his sides – one gripping a glowing, ancient scepter – his shoulders unnervingly straight. His typical Asgardian armor hugged his body like a second skin, his raven hair slicked back away from his face. His eyes pinning her to the spot.

Loki.

Zora had never actually spoken to the god, had never fought him during the Battle of New York, but aside from the obvious – the strange dress, the terrified looks other customers were giving him, and the goddamn scepter – Zora would never forget those eyes. He looked at her now as he had when he’d plunged a dagger into Thor’s belly – dark, focused, _intense_. Unrepentant.

“Oh,” Zora said lamely, completely forgetting the cart she was pushing around. Her brain short circuited momentarily – how had he found her? Why was he here, when the others, the big leagues, weren’t far away? “Oh, shit.”

Maybe she’d fucked something up. Maybe he was able to track her, somehow, and not Nat, who usually went on supply runs. Maybe – and this one fucking hurt – maybe he was going to use her to get to them.  No, that was it – he was definitely going to use her to get to them.

Zora turned and bolted, hopping over produce, darting around customers, generally making a very quick exit towards the door. Her heart hammered away in her throat, and she knew she wouldn’t make it. She wouldn’t. He was a god, and you couldn’t outrun a god. You couldn’t outrun some things, not when they’d been chasing after you for a lifetime.

Her body collided with his as he appeared in front of her. It was like running face-first into a brick wall.  Zora bounced right off of him, nearly landing on her ass, but her quick reflexes adjusted and she merely skittered across the floor. She hadn’t known he was so tall. He was taller than Thor, even.

“Lady Haque,” he spoke, and she could only imagine that first day, back when the US had surrendered, and he addressed the masses on national television. He sounded different, here. Real. It sent pinpricks up her arms. “No one has to get hurt if you cooperate.”

 _Cooperate_. Cooperate. No – she wasn’t going to sell them out. Not after everything.

Snatching the pistol that had been holstered beneath her hoodie, Zora held it up. “Cooperation is not my strong suit,” she told the demi-god firmly.

He blinked. “Will you shoot me with your Midgardian weapon?” A sharp grin curled on his mouth. “Please, try. I’m afraid it won’t even leave a scratch.”

Zora smirked at him, obviously taking the god off guard. Then she refocused her weapon towards her head. “Maybe not on you, but it’ll leave a bit more than just a scratch on me.” She looked him hard in the eyes, her heartbeat throbbing through her entire body at this point - _because this was it, this was the end_ – and said through gritted teeth, “I’m not a sellout.”

His hand moved out right as she was going to pull the trigger, and something inside the gun clicked. Just not in the way it was supposed to. Zora glanced at it, pulling at the trigger over and over again – nothing happened – before glaring at the self-proclaimed King.

“Now that _that_ ’s over with-“he began, voice every shade of condescending as he stepped forward, ready to approach her.

Zora made to bolt again, darting the other way. It was futile – she _knew_ it was – but she couldn’t go down without a fight. And, well, she couldn’t necessarily fight him. Her being mortal and all.

She had only taken four steps when some sort of uncomfortable atmosphere descended on her, curling invisible fingers around her body, holding her in place. Zora felt sick; shivers racked her body at the unfamiliar contact, the _inhuman_ contact, but she couldn’t move. _Magic_.

The demi-god took long, measured steps towards Zora. The crowd that had gathered around them stared at him in a mixture of horror and wonder as he stepped back into view, a mere foot away from her.

“Cooperate,” the god said again, his tone much less patient this time around, “or someone will get hurt. Perhaps someone at that dingy little underground facility you’ve all been staying in.”

Her blood ran cold. An anxious sweat broke out on Zora’s forehead. He knew where they were. He knew. “You think I don’t know you’ll hurt them anyway?” Her tone was dark, hateful. She sneered at him, despite the voice of self-preservation in her head directing her otherwise.

Loki grinned. “I won’t. I’ll even give you my word. You’ll suffice for my purposes.”

Another shiver wanted to run down her spine, but the magic curled around her body wouldn’t permit it. “Your purposes?”

“Indeed,” he went on, as if they were having a conversation, as if he didn’t have magical claws digging into her body, holding her immobile as a crowd of terrified onlookers watched. “I only need one of you, and I think you’ll do. They won’t fight back if they know your life is at stake, will they?”

She should have told Fury ‘no’. She shouldn’t have accepted his offer – or rather, his very encouraging demand – to become part of all this. She should’ve run the other way when she had the chance.

Zora had a feeling that Fate had finally caught up with her.

 

000

 

The woman strained against his magic – he could sense every flex of her muscles, every millimeter of skin that ached for release as if he were touching her.  The other patrons in the drab grocer’s store gaped at their trapped hero in horror, either not comprehending that danger was afoot and they should be swiftly on their way, or too enthralled by the strange mortal habit of watching tragedies play out to their end.

Loki felt at least some satisfaction in the successful capture of his target, if not also some curiosity. The Mad Titan had been adamant that the mortal be seized and it could be for no small reason.

He watched the mortal woman ponder over his words – that she would suffice as his only hostage to keep the rest of the Avengers held at bay.  She would be the collar on their leash, yanked and pulled how he desired. Everyone on this meddlesome planet seemed to forget one major factor, however – Loki was the God of Lies.

So of course he wasn’t telling the truth.

“I want a guarantee,” the mortal grit out quickly, her hard green gaze staring him down, “that you won’t go after the others.”

Loki grinned. It was tiresome, explaining such pedestrian concepts to the mortals, but Loki found some amusement, though it may be bitter, at her expense. “Darling, you are the guarantee.  So long as you remain in my custody – and make no attempt to escape – I’ll have no use for them.”

He watched as she resolved herself, those green eyes shifting from gemstone to marble. “Fuck you,” she said, but he could hear the defeat that lay just beneath her veneer of hate. The tingles he had felt of her struggling against his magic ceased. But the shifting gleam in her eye made his lips curl further. “You want me to be a perfect hostage, then I want something in return.”

                Oh, he _loved_ negotiations. Especially when the other party had nothing to negotiate with whatsoever. Cocking an unimpressed eyebrow, Loki asked, “You mean other than allowing Captain America, Hawkeye, the Hulk, the Black Widow, and Iron Man to live?” His tone may have let on she was asking a bit much.

                The woman, to her credit, didn’t back down. “Yes.”

                Curious. “I’m listening.”

                “I want to see Thor.”

                Loki laughed. Of course. And while he could easily say no and take her regardless, he was in a rather indulgent mood. Never mind if it played to his advantage to see why his oaf of a not-brother was so fond of the woman.

                “Certainly.”

 

000

 

                Teleporting from some BFE town in Kansas to the Avengers Tower in NYC made Zora’s stomach churn and her blood rush uncomfortably through her veins, like she’d been spun round and round on a carnival ride, completely upside down, before being placed back on her feet.  Loki having a firm grip on her upper arm made her already frayed nerves spark and agitate as she just barely suppressed the urge to break it – but of course, she wouldn’t be able to, him being a god and all. Despite all this, the worst part was seeing the Tower manned by the Chitauri, watching as they collectively stared at her with smug, black eyes, feeling their hatred and their otherness in a place she had only just come to consider her home.

                 “Y’know, for calling the entirety of the human race insects, you sure picked some nasty-looking minions,” Zora chirped with a confidence she didn’t quite feel, glaring at the slender, pale hand that guided her off of Tony’s platform and into the main living room.

                She could feel Loki send her a sideways glare. “They are a race of shapeshifters,” he clarified in a clipped, condescending tone. “Your feeble human brain could not comprehend their true forms, so they had to, what’s the expression? Dumb themselves down a bit. For your benefit, of course.”

                “Of course,” Zora rolled her eyes. She regretted it immediately when the room tilted slightly on its axis. Shock. She was in some form of shock. _One breath, two_ … and she would emerge from it. Any moment now. “It’s not as if we invented weapons beyond primitive spears or swords or dabble in space science or have mathematicians and the sort.”

                She could tell she was ruffling the god’s feathers, if only a little. “Your kind is but a speck in the grand scheme of things, things you don’t even understand.”

                _You’re connected to things, Zora. Things you don’t understand._

                She spoke if only to drown the voice from her head. “And the mighty King Loki will enlighten us?”

                Evidently her sarcasm went undetected. Loki stopped sharply and focused another intense look on her, and the shock receded from her like a cold Atlantic tide. “Don’t be foolish. Your kind is _incapable_ of comprehending.”

                “And yet I am perfectly capable of comprehending what an asshole you are. Curious.”

                Had Zora not killed innumerable Chitauri, lived through a hit from Natasha Romanoff twice, and tore through dozens of supposedly invincible men in an underground fighting pit in Moscow for six months straight, she might have flinched at Loki’s scathing glare. As it was, she only internally cringed. “If you want to keep your tongue you will close your mouth,” he hissed at her, before shoving her forward once more, to some destination only he knew.

                It was, as it turned out, the cruelest destination. Her bedroom. The one Tony had only just gifted her some weeks prior. The one Nat had helped her deck out with posters from all around the world and the odd trinket here and there. The one she and Thor had watched every single episode of The Office in, his laughter ringing through the halls.

                Zora felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

                “What are we doing here?” she asked lowly.

                The God of Lies grinned back at her, blue eyes flashing with mirth. Something sinister lined that smile, something otherly. There was no magic to suppress her shudder this time around. “Why, it’s your homecoming, of course. Where else did you expect to stay?”

                Zora scratched the back of her head. “The dungeons?” Although if her captor didn’t see that to be a fit residence for her, she really shouldn’t put it in his head. “But this – this is good. This spells cooperation, so long as I get my end of the bargain.”

                His grin strained, as if she had made a joke only he understood. “Right. Thor.” Loki turned about, seemingly finished with their conversation and, surprisingly, with her. “Tomorrow. I have some meetings, and then I think I could fit some time in for you two to get… reacquainted.”

                That final word slithered from his tongue with obvious innuendo. Zora sneered. “We’re friends. But I wouldn’t expect someone like you to know what that’s like.”

                And all those sly smiles faded from the demi-god’s face in a flash.

                P _ressure point = friend_ s. Attachments. Had he never had any?

                Having retreated to her doorway during his exit, Loki turned about and strode right back into Zora’s space. Their noses nearly touched, they were so close, and she found it hard to breathe without breathing in the strange smell of him: mint, some sharp scent like gunpowder, some spice.

                Her head felt oddly warm.

                “Your chambers will be guarded,” Loki growled out, every bit the god who had taken over her realm within mere weeks. “Should you try to leave, one of your friends will be killed. Should you wander about the Tower unaccompanied, Thor will be tortured. Should you do anything, at all, without my permission, either or both could occur. Do we have an understanding?”

                Zora’s teeth grit together so hard she thought they might shatter. Sucking air into her nose, she gave a sharp nod.

                Because she needed to remember: there was more at stake than just her life.

 

000

 

                Loki’s nimble, pale fingers twirled the hand-carved miniature of mjiournir around as he studied its craftmanship with a critical eye.

                It sang to him. Lowly, sweetly, it called out, wanting to be known. To be heard. And the woman – there was something similar within her, deeper, he had felt when he teleported them back to the Tower. When his magic was engaged, it seemed to align with her. To point him to her, to see her, to hear.

                As far as he could figure out, the woman who went by Zora Haque wasn’t human.

                “You forget your place, Asgardian,” the Other hissed in his ashy tone. Loki stood, now, in the Void, upon a lonely rock hovering about space, just beyond a throne to a tyrant who hid his face from all but Death. The Other crept around Loki, some cross between a slug and a snake, his heavy cowl obscuring what Loki was certain were hideous facial features. “You come when called. You do not come on some sort of capricious will.”

                Back straight, shoulders tautly pulled back, Loki glared back at the Other. In his pocket, he could hear the little carved trinket call out to him. “I have news,” Loki said, his impatience leaking into his tone. “Your king will be happy to hear it.”

                “ _My_ king,” the Other quipped sharply. “Or _ours_?”             

                “Our king,” Loki corrected as easily as a silvertongue like him could. “My lord Thanos will be eager to hear of my progress.”

                The Mad Titan himself was perched upon his space-rock throne, an ugly creation that, to Loki’s eye, seemed to be slapdashed together without proper finesse.

                It was not a throne Loki ached to see himself on.

                “The news?” the Titan boomed, his sonic voice seeping into the very air itself. His grotesquely purple skin looked worse still, and Loki wondered, absently, if in his courting of Death, Thanos may be trying to resembling a dying body as much as possible.

                “The woman you wished to be apprehended is in my custody,” Loki said smoothly, looking beyond the Other to meet Thanos’s hard gaze. “I am awaiting your instructions on how to proceed.”

                Thanos smiled, or Loki assumed it was a smile. His lifeless lips curled upwards in some facsimile of a pleased smirk. “This is good news,” the Titan agreed. “But you shall await further instruction. You must still consolidate your power throughout the rest of the realm.”

                “Of course,” Loki said. He swallowed thickly, quick enough to go unnoticed, and barely managed to add, “… my King.”

                Within a moment, Loki opened his eyes to find himself back in Tony Stark’s primary office, the one he had commandeered for himself once he and the Chitari had taken over. No longer did he feel the disturbing stillness of the Void, but the crisp air-conditioning of the tower.

                The little trinket found its way into his hands again. Such a sweet song it crooned, something that seemed so familiar, so nostalgic.

                He resisted to urge to crush it within his fist and stood. There was much work to be done.

 

000

 

                Zora did not rest. As soon as her godly captor slammed the door shut behind him countless hours ago, she got to work. Strategy – that was her thing. The one contribution she felt she could earnestly make to the superhuman group known as the Avengers. So, ignoring the twisted voice deep inside her mind whispering, _but where did all your strategy and plans get you, Z? A prisoner to a mad demi-god?_ Zora instead focused all of her energy on developing a Grand Strategy. A rounded, layered plan that would recognize all actors involved in the current situation; all possible resources available to herself, the others in the bunker, and Loki; and, most importantly, how to formulate every possible contingency she might need in order to hold some power in her current state of affairs.

                And because there couldn’t be a paper trail of any sort, lest she risk Loki discovering her one and only weapon against him, she had to organize everything inside her head.

                So when the self-proclaimed king waltzed into her room the next day, princely as ever in his Asgardian attire, he found Zora lying flat on her king-sized bed, staring glossily up at the ceiling, hands spread palm-up at her sides in the most relaxing pose she could manage.

                He perched himself against the doorjamb and studied her while the pair remained together in silence. Zora could feel his probing gaze, his sharp eyes that were surely picking apart every rise of her chest, every blink of her eyes.

                “Forgive me for the intrusion,” the false-king finally began boredly, a cold sort of cordiality lining his words. Zora immediately tensed, ready for the worst. Bad men playing at manners like that could only mean one thing, right? Disaster.

                “Can I see Thor, now, or has _his royal highness_ ,” she hissed sarcastically, “gone back on our deal?”

                Loki gave her that bone-chilling smirk. The very one that she had considered time and again throughout the night, seeking some sort of answer to the question: Was the fallen prince of Asgard truly mad, or something else entirely? “Should you find yourself able to extract yourself from glaring at the ceiling, I would gladly lead you to his current residence.”

                So smooth. His voice was rich like warm butter. She glowered at the prince and sat up, so sharply that she felt briefly light-headed. “I was thinking,” she said, as if she even needed to offer an explanation, though her tone was too defensive for her liking.

Loki gave her a faux-sympathetic look. “I have heard how difficult such a task is for you mortals.”

Setting her jaw, Zora straightened out her rumpled clothing and marched towards the door. “Take me to him,” was all she managed to growl out.

 

000

 

The sub-levels of Stark Tower left much to be desired. Sub-level three, in which Thor was tucked away, was particularly dour, chosen for various reasons. For one, General Saadu would be suspicious if Loki did not subject his most loathed not-brother to the severest of environments accessible, and would thusly report the matter to the Other, who would in turn report to the Mad-Titan himself. In this manner, sub-level three was sublime. It was, perhaps, the closest thing Tony Stark had in this ugly, metal building that resembled Asgard’s famed dungeons. Dark, dank, stinking of rot, and lacking in any comfort whatsoever.

He watched, with some satisfaction, as a near imperceptible shudder ran down Zora Haque’s spine whilst she took in her surroundings. Good. Let the woman see what conditions Thor had been subjected to. Let her learn to fear him.

The tiny, smug smirk was wiped clean off his face when she spoke, in hushed tones as if paying some sort of perverse respect to the silence that hovered in the air. “Sub-level three,” she noted with an air of calculation. “It didn’t always look this way.”

He had the sense that proper social custom demanded he say something along the lines of “oh?”, but he wouldn’t deign her the response. It seemed she didn’t need one regardless.

“Bruce trained in here,” she continued on, unprompted. Then she looked Loki straight in the eye, and he suddenly saw something in her that hadn’t been there before. Something that sang to him, strangely, in that same soft croon that came from Thor’s little trinket. But fiercer. Darker. Slinking into his chest like a snake. “He trained with me.”

Loki did not even blink, but within his mind, he recalled the brutal, savage strength of the one called the Hulk. The very creature that had nearly been Loki’s undoing.

And this woman trained with that… thing? The damage, the destruction, of this particular level had been wrought by this strange non-human before him and the most beastly creature he had even encountered in the nine-realms?

He clenched his teeth. “Are we here to reminisce, or were you hoping to see your beloved Thor?”

Zora sneered back at him. “It’s no wonder you don’t have friends.” Then, glancing about the gloomy interior, she nodded. “Where is he?”

He ought to drag her by her hair back to her room, he suddenly thought, viciously playing out the scene in his head. The carelessness with which she spoke to him – _him!_ The ruler of this realm. Prince of Asgard. Loki, God of Mischief and Lies. He was a god, and she was… what?

She wasn’t human.

That thought alone spurred him on, stayed his hand and allowed him to keep a cool head. This woman before him, however deceitful her appearance may be, was not human. She was something else entirely, titillating enough to draw the eye of the Mad-Titan, the affection of his not-brother, the comradery of Midgard’s Mightiest Heroes.

Loki released a silent breath and stepped forward, nodding for the strange creature to follow.

 

000

 

Sub-Level Three had not always been so dour as it was at present. It had been bright, filled with blinding white lights that hung uniformly from the massive ceiling, a soft, somehow pliant grey flooring that had absorbed one of many falls she had taken when training with Bruce, and white walls filled with whatever new tech Tony had devised to test the Hulk and Zora’s unusually fluid fighting styles. Quite simply, it had been built for the strange duo: the green-rage monster and the former Special Ops operative.

Bruce had remarked, on so many odd occasions, about Zora’s presence acting as some sort of balm for the green-skinned beast that was his other half. Since, as a child, Zora had tamed the viscous dog that had haunted her family’s neighborhood for weeks, she simply assumed she was more attuned to primal, wild creatures.

Now, Zora felt a chill creep through the air as she followed Loki, false-king of Midgard, to wherever he had deemed it appropriate to hold the God of Thunder. Her gaze flitted from wall to wall, taking in the exposed brick, the foundations the room had been built upon, remembering every single training session that had eventually turned Sub-Level-Three into the ruin it was now. The floor crumbled here and there beneath her boots, the walls looked eroded, once bright industrial lights hung haphazardly from the ceiling or lay in piles of disrepair on the ground, and the air was thick with the sort of dust that reigned in a room plagued by disuse. It was dark enough that she couldn’t see clear across the room, but not too dark that she couldn’t easily follow the demi-god as he escorted her to her friend.

When Zora spotted the medieval looking chains over Loki’s tall, sharp shoulder, and the familiar muscular arms they were binding, her stomach plummeted to her toes. No longer able to retain her sense of calm, she darted around Loki’s tall frame and closed the rest of the short distance between herself and the thunder god, chained like an animal to the wall.

Were it not for the red cape hanging limply at his back, Zora would have questioned if Loki had produced some false version of Thor in order to trick her. The demi-god before her, with arms banded in thick metal cuffs riddled with an ancient, softly-glowing scrawl, looked like a pitiful imitation of the mighty thunder god, the Asgardian prince, the Avenger. His hair, usually lustrously golden, hung wilted and stringy around his face; his jaw hadn’t seen a razor – or whatever the godly equivalent was – in far too long, and his brow was furrowed so deeply that Zora worried the frown would never leave his face.

More troublesome, still, was his lack of cognizance. Zora had marched right up to him, stood barely an arm’s length away, and still his head hung down, chin resting on his lackluster chest plate, his eyes closed against the ugliness of his makeshift prison.

Crouching down, as if approaching a child, Zora studied his face intently, her jaw clamped so tightly together that she briefly wondered if her teeth would shatter. “Thor?”

Her voice breaking through the eerie silence of Sub-Level Three startled even her. Thor’s head suddenly snapped up, his shockingly deep blue eyes finding Zora’s in an instant.

A multitude of emotions played across his face – surprise, relief, sadness, and finally, guilt.

“Lady Zora,” Thor said quietly, his now alert gaze sweeping over her from head to toes. “Have you been harmed?”

Zora’s gut clenched in sorrow. Here Thor was, likely imprisoned here since the rest of the Avengers had fled some weeks ago, and he was wondering about her?

“No,” she managed to say in a level tone. Taking in his limp hair again, his sad blue eyes, she asked, “Have you?”

Thor’s eyes slid from Zora to the presence hovering over her shoulder before returning back to her. “No. Loki would not harm his own brother.”

Zora could’ve sworn she heard a hiss behind her, but she ignored it, her attention entirely focused on the demi-god in front of her, resting on knees that likely ached from the rough floor. “He stabbed you in battle, Thor,” she said, hate seeping into her tone. “He already hurt you.”

Thor shook his head, though the action was weak. Was he being fed properly? What could Loki be doing – or perhaps, _not_ doing – to make Thor seem so feeble? “Twas a shallow wound, Lady Haque – not intended to do anything but stun.” Thor swallowed thickly and searched her face. “The others? How do they fare?”

Zora’s lips pressed into a thin line. What could she tell Thor of the others without giving anything to Loki? What did Loki know and what did he not know?

Was it possible he already knew everything?

“They’re fine,” she finally said, keeping it as simple as possible. “Worried about you, mostly.”

“And now you as well,” Thor said sorrowfully, the guilt that had flashed across his face earlier making a reappearance. “Lady Haque, I am so sorry. I fear it is my fault that you have been placed in harm’s way.” His eyes flickered back down to his chained hands and Zora had to fight back the bile that threatened to rise in her throat.

Thor has always been a hero to her. Different than the others – someone to really look up to, someone she was able to turn to, a true friend. Reaching out, she cupped his bearded jaw and gently tipped it upwards, so his deep blue gaze could meet her eyes. “No one’s to blame for this, Thor,” she said adamantly. “No one except Loki. Understand? Do not waste a second feeling guilty for this.”

The thunder god attempted a weak smile. He seemed tired, suddenly; as if abruptly overtaken by some bone-deep fatigue. Zora knew it couldn’t have been natural – she had seen, first hand, how the thunder god could stay awake for days, sometimes weeks, on end. “Perhaps that is true,” he allowed, his voice growing softer as his eyes dulled. “There are things out there far greater than any of us, Lady Haque. Our Fates have always rested in the hands of the Norns.”

Before she could open her mouth to question him, to breathe any one of the innumerable questions that were suddenly flitting through her confused mind, Thor felt back into the repose he had been in when she initially approached him. Eyes closed, chin tucked on his chest, body relaxing into the chains.

Zora spun around, feeling panicked and unsure and most of all worried for the first Prince of Asgard who had never so much yawned around Zora. She took two measured strides over to Loki, who had been leaning against a half-crumbled column watching the entire exchange with blank eyes, and poked a finger in his chest.

“What the hell have you done to him?” she nearly yelled, feeling an impossible number of emotions at once. Fear and concern for Thor, worry for the others hanging back at the bunker, overwhelmed and confused by the cryptic words her friend had just spoken. Pointing behind her, Zora snarled at the false-king, “He’s _sick_. He needs help. A doctor, or – or whatever the hell you guys use in your realm. A healer.”

Zora’s face flushed red with anger when Loki barked a laugh at her. “Sick?” He raised a perfectly condescending eyebrow, fixing Zora with an amused look. “We are gods, mortal. We do not become sick.” Loki’s raven head nodded at Thor’s bindings, his eyes still lit with amusement. “The chains drain his natural store of magic. It won’t kill him.”

“And I should just believe you?”

“Have I given you the impression that you have any other choice?” 

Her mouth snapped shut. There was _always_ a choice. Always. Except when the rest of your friends’ lives were at stake. “I want a guarantee that you’re not killing him,” she finally said, settling her steely look on the god.

Loki laughed at her again, his teeth impossibly white in the dark of Sub-Level Three. “For a prisoner, you’re quite demanding, Lady Haque.” His blue eyes flashed darkly at her, forcing her to take a lengthy step back. “But I have already humored one of your demands for the sake of _cooperation_ ,” he said, his voice curling over the word’s syllables as elegantly as his irate tone allowed. “I will not indulge another.”

Suddenly, his snow-white hand gripped her forearm, almost bruisingly, and Zora felt her stomach flip about inside her body as he teleported them back to her room within the tower. Nausea hit her like a tidal wave, the sensation of being in one place one moment and a different place the next disorienting and stomach-churning.

Zora gripped the edge of her bed tightly to regain her balance. Just as quickly as the prince’s hand had grabbed her, it let go, leaving her to adjust to gravity all on her own.

Despite being so blindsided and off-balance, Zora tilted her head up to give the prince a fiery glare. “Do _not_ do that again,” she bit out, a snarl on her lips.

Loki just smirked at her from the doorway. “Another demand. Be cautious, Lady Haque. I may begin to think you’ve decided to stop cooperating with me, and we don’t want that, do we?”

With that, he shut the door, boxing her in the room once more. Zora let herself fall face-first onto the comforter she and Nat had picked out so many weeks ago and restrained a frustrated scream.

 

000

 

Clint watched his partner pace the bunker’s security room like a bloodthirsty lioness, her boot-clad feet completely silent on the concrete floor, her shoulders squared for battle, her red mouth pulled into a deep scowl.

“Nat,” he said carefully, twirling an arrow absently in his hands as Tony typed furiously into the supercomputer sitting at the center of the room. “I think you’re making Banner a little… agitated.”

Natasha’s soul-killing look zeroed in on Clint, effectively silencing him. “I shouldn’t have let her go.”

It was Cap who decided to risk Natasha’s ire, crossing his arms over his chest as he hovered behind Tony’s chair. “You couldn’t have known,” the war-relic said matter-of-factly. Despite the comforting words, even Steve was on edge, his eyes sharp and alert, focused Tony’s insanely fast typing.

“ _I should have known_ ,” Natasha hissed, rounding on the Captain and anyone else who dared meet her eye. There was a darkness to her expression Clint had only seen once before, when his eldest, Cooper, had broken his arm climbing a tree in the middle of one of the assassins’ missions, and she couldn’t be there right away to try to make it better.

He was never sure if it was some amped up maternal instinct that made Nat thirst for blood when one of her own was in danger or something else entirely, but fuck, was she terrifying.

“Natasha,” Banner spoke up, drawing her steely gaze onto him. His hands were balled into fists at his sides – a total red flag for Clint, but hey, if no one else cared if the scientist hulked-out in the underground bunker, then whatever, right? – but his face was calm. Calmer than anyone else in the room. “Clint’s right. If you don’t sit down, I might start turning a little green.”

Natasha stared at Banner a moment longer before promptly finding a seat beside Barton. Her agitation hadn’t fizzled out, though. Instead, she started aberrantly bouncing her knee up and down, her focus turning to Tony as well – the center of gravity in the room, the only promise for information on their missing teammate.

“Anything?” Nat asked after several moments in silence, her muscles coiled up in preparation for an answer. Any answer.

Tony sighed heavily. His fingers finally paused over the keyboard as he glanced around the room, an uncharacteristic frown weighing heavy on his lips. “Yeah. Well. Found something a few minutes ago, but I was trying to follow up with it before… alerting the troops.” He waved offhandedly towards Natasha.

The assassin immediately stood and glided over to Tony. “Show me.”

Tony said nothing; he merely hit a button on the keyboard as the rest of the crew gathered around the screen. A video started playing – a surveillance clip, by the grainy look of it and the lack of audio – of the single grocery store in the one-stoplight town the Avengers-minus-Thor had holed up in only three weeks ago.

Clint’s stomach coiled into knots. There she was. Zora.

The team watched in complete silence as a panicked Zora bumped-face first into Loki, who had materialized in front of her in order to block her escape from the store. No one said anything as she pulled her gun and turned it on herself, tried pulling the trigger several times to no avail, before sprinting away from the demi-god again. As he caught her in some sort of magical-hold and defeat was scrawled all over her face.

For a moment, Clint felt burning hot anger at Fury for getting the agent involved in this whole mess. Zora was _young_. So young. Half his age, at least, with the rest of her life ahead of her. But as he and the others watched Loki blink them out of existence, leaving only bystanders and witnesses huddling around in their wake, he realized how short the woman’s life could turn out to be. How short it definitely would have been, had she managed to blow her brains out like she’d clearly intended to do.

Just to protect them.

“ _Blyadt!_ ” Natasha hissed quietly, turning away from the screen to resume her pacing, only to remember Banner’s request. She stood unnervingly still, arms crossed firmly over her chest, her eyes flickering from one Avenger to the next as she thought.

Tony rubbed at his goatee. “Gotta admit, though. Kid has balls. She was gonna take one for the team, even if – “

“If you finish that sentence, Tony, _you_ will be the first person the other guy will wanna smash the next time he comes out,” Banner snapped, his eyes dark, putting everyone in the room on edge.

Tony raised his hands defensively. “Okay, sheesh, okay. Just sayin’. That takes guts.”

“It should have been me,” Natasha said quietly, her voice turning a deadly, dark shade. She glared around the room, daring someone to speak up against her. “We need a game plan,” she continued after several beats of silence, turning to face Cap.

Steve nodded brusquely. “We know where Loki’s holed up,” the Captain said. “What are the chances of him keeping Zora someplace else?”

“Slim,” Clint chimed in. “He’d want her close. Probably has Thor around, too. The closer they are to him, the more controllable. Easier to see if they’re up to something.”

“And knowing Zora,” Tony added. “She’s always up to something.”

Natasha set her jaw. “So we prep to go back to the Tower.”

Steve glanced around the room, reading the consensus on the team’s faces. “All right,” he agreed. “But we’re gonna need to plan this down to the minute.”

 

000

 

The tiny wood carving of mjiournir serenaded Loki all throughout the day. During meetings with former heads of states, negotiations of terms of surrender, and the strategy sessions he held with General Saadu and the other high-ranking Chitauri generals, it purred for him. Sometimes quiet, merely a hum holding a tune in the back of his mind, and other times excited, crooning to him, beckoning him towards some point he couldn’t quite grasp. It oscillated its tunes and frequencies, distracting him on occasion, pulling his very valuable focus into frays.

It had only worsened after taking the mortal woman to see Thor. When she had rounded on Loki and poked him in the chest, the trinket almost laughed, giddy, heady and intoxicated.

It left his mind with a puzzle that needed solving. A puzzle he was missing so many pieces to. And besides, the Mad Titan would have fulfilled his ambiguous need of the mortal any time now. So did it matter?

Yes. It mattered. Because try as he might, he could not forget that the mortal was in fact _not_ a mortal, but something else entirely. Something he didn’t know. Something that had left an intense magical fingerprint on such a trivial trinket.

Zora Haque was an aggravating and inconvenient mystery. Were he still Loki, second Prince of Asgard, trickster and silver-tongue, he might’ve been intrigued by such a mystery. But that version of himself was long dead. Too much had happened since then; too much had been seen, had been bargained.

“Your majesty,” the rough, unpleasant tenor that was General Saadu’s voice broke into Loki’s thoughts, rousing him from repose in the commandeered office of Tony Stark.

Loki sat up straighter, canting his head towards the Chitauri general like a king addressing his subject.

 _Why did it still feel so forced_?

“What is it?”

The General did not go to great lengths to hide his distaste for Loki, which was precisely why Loki had chosen him to be his chief military advisor. Better to work with a creature who had no care to deceive Loki on such trivial matters.

“It is the Chinese, your majesty,” Saadu said in the single, flat tone his voice only ever took on. “Their delegation has just informed one of your diplomats that they would prefer war to submission.”

Loki sighed and rose from his chair. Thoughts of Germany slid through his mind; the mayhem, the destruction, after he had set the full force of the Chitauri army on the country’s capital. So much bloodshed. So many dead.

Surrendering was the better option, which was why he worked so hard to send diplomats to those countries that were still holding out. But diplomacy had its limits.

“So be it.”

 

000

 

When Tony marched in to the living room, hair askew and glasses falling down his nose to reveal reddened eyes, everyone immediately knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Hands that were charting out maps of the Tower stilled and equations were left half-finished.

“Zora?” Steve managed to ask first, his thoughts automatically turning to their newest recruit. Would Loki have killed her so quickly? Would he truly see her as so worthless that he’d snuff out her life like a mayfly?

Tony shook his head, and the room collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then what is it?” Banner asked, his thick-framed glasses resting low on his nose, his hair tousled from falling asleep on the couch sometime within the past several hours.

“China,” was all Tony said. “It’s China.”

There was a moment of confusion before Clint asked, warily, “China? You mean… they surrendered?”

He had almost said _finally_ , but caught himself at the last minute. Loki’s swift domination of the world was really getting to him, if he could possibly think like that. If he could possibly think it would be better for the rest of the world to surrender than fight back.

“No,” Tony said, a mixture of fear and excitement lighting up his tired face. “No. That’s just it. Those fuckers said they’re going to put up a fight.” And he grinned, like this was the best news he’d received in his entire lifetime.

Steve scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, trying but failing to hide his worried frown. “Tony… You remember what happened to Germany. The Chinese’ll get slaughtered. They’re no match for Loki’s armies.”

“That’s just it,” Tony continued, hardly missing a beat. His eyes flickered wildly around the room, the way they always did when he had a ‘brilliant’ idea. “Loki will be so focused on preparing for war with China… and that’s our move. That’s our in. _No one_ will get slaughtered.”

The pieces fell into place. “You think we could blindside him.”

Tony’s excitement morphed into grim determination. “I think we can show that fucker what we’re made of and get our girl outta there. But we have to start _now_.”

Natasha’s eyes glowed the way they always did before a big fight. “Then let’s pick up the pace.”

 

000

 

Zora was staring blankly outside the floor-to-ceiling window in her bedroom when a familiar, _irritating_ voice rang out from behind her. “Does the prisoner have any demands for supper?”

She didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Instead, her eyes followed a hazy trail of smoke rising from the rubble of a skyscraper several blocks over. In her mind, she was replaying the Battle of New York. The frenzy, the utter chaos that had devoured the city she so loved. Frightened faces running on the streets, blood trickling from bodies that hadn’t been able to escape the warzone. People’s belongings, strewn about the city from apartment complexes that had been reduced completely to ash.

It had been such a nightmare. Was still a nightmare, forcing her awake most nights, replaying again and again until she started to get the details mixed up.

They had failed New York City. They had failed the world. And now, Zora had failed her friends. Getting herself captured by the same man who wanted to turn her world into ruins.

Since seeing the feeble state Thor, the Mighty God of Thunder, had been reduced to, Zora’s confidence had all but diminished. If Thor could look so weak… what chance did she stand against Loki and his machinations? What good were her strategies against an opponent who had thousands of years of experience on her? It was analogous to a novice playing chess with a master.

Feeling Loki’s presence lingering at her door – he had a certain atmosphere about him that thickened the air, almost – Zora recalled his earlier question and realized he was probably going to wait until she decided to answer him. He had all the time in the world, after all.

“No,” she finally said, her tone flat yet void of the bitterness she felt towards him.

His soft chuckle rang quietly through the room, a genuine laugh rather than one of his condescending barbs. Zora scowled to herself for even noticing.

“Oh my,” the false-king said tauntingly, his voice suddenly closer, as if he had moved into the center of the room. “Don’t tell me my so charmingly _willful_ captive has lost hope, already?” Another chuckle, though this one was darker. “I might’ve thought it’d take at least a week. Two, perhaps.”

Putting the scene of New York’s ruins behind her, Zora faced the demi-god with a glower. “What is it you want?”

He wanted her to cooperate and that was exactly what she was doing. _Cooperating_. Why the fuck he was bothering her was beyond her comprehension at the moment, and quite truthfully, testing her very brittle patience.

The god merely gave Zora a smirk. “I thought you might join me to dine this evening.”

“A last meal?” she asked sardonically, quirking an eyebrow.

Loki rolled his eyes. “A show of kindness. Or do you think that I’m evil straight through to my core?”

 _No_ , she thought to herself, annoyed. His single redeeming quality was the velvety smooth sound of his voice, always so controlled, always so elegant and musical. And even for that, Zora hated him.

Rather than voicing such thoughts aloud, Zora instead stared down the demi-god, scrutinizing his every movement, skepticism written plainly on her pale face. “I do not have dinner with lunatics who aspire to take over my world.”

Loki’s bright blue gaze took on a strange shade of blackness. “Watch how you speak to me, mortal,” he hissed, transforming from beguiling and gentlemanly prince one moment to a snake baring its fangs the next. “I can end you without so much as raising my hand, and where would that leave your precious friends?”

 _Without an extra liability,_ Zora couldn’t help but think darkly. Not for the first time since Loki had forced her back to the tower, she wished he hadn’t kept her Glock from blowing her head off. Things would have been better for the others, or so she could have hoped.

“I’m not having dinner with you,” Zora reiterated in a determinedly less caustic tone, but kept her eyes level with the false-king. “I do, however, need some air. Being stuck in this room all day is driving me insane.”

Not necessarily the truth, but getting outside of these four walls would give Zora some idea regarding exactly how many Chitauri she’d have to fight her way through or sneak her way past if the day came that she needed to flee and find the others.

Evidently, her motivations were as transparent as the glass windows taunting Zora with a macabre view of her broken city. Loki grinned at her and gestured towards the open doorway behind him. “Then by all means, allow me to escort you to the balcony.”

 

000

 

After taking a short detour to Tony’s fully stocked bar in the main living space to pour herself some bourbon – and giving herself a moment to map out and count the number of Chitauri she’d seen on the way here – Zora headed out towards the balcony, purposefully staying a step ahead of the demi-god, if only to undermine his control over the situation.

After she’d settled herself against the steel and glass balcony outside and took a healthy sip from her tumbler, Loki spoke. “I think perhaps you don’t quite comprehend the meaning of _escort_ ,” he nearly snorted, blue eyes pinning her to the spot intently. Where she expected to find ire, she found amusement instead.

Great. It was one thing to be the locus of the false-king’s anger; it was another entirely to be his source of amusement. The latter, she felt, was eons more demeaning.

Zora blinked at him innocently, pursing her lips in thought. “You mean in the same way you don’t quite grasp the concept of _a show of kindness_?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Not for what the god could do to her, but because she was already walking on such thin ice around him. Anything could set his madness off. And the universe knew how _very_ good Zora was at poking lions until they bit.

But again, instead of his strange blue eyes taking on any hint of annoyance, he grinned. “Touché.” Turning, he himself leaned his forearms against the steel frame of the balcony, bright blue eyes gazing out at the ruins he created, allowing himself a moment of repose that she’d not yet seen.

Zora stared at him openly as she sipped her bourbon, her thoughts running wild. If she had the means, any means, she would kill him now. Right now. The hive-like structure of the Chitauri would crumble if their leader fell. The world could right itself again. The others wouldn’t have to hide out in some underground bunker in BFE like they weren’t celebrated heroes, with family and friends and people to get back to. Thor wouldn’t look so… sickly.

She was forced to grip the tumbler in her hands tighter, if only to restrain the itch to throw herself at the demi-god and attempt to strangle him with her bare hands. If a bullet would barely make a scratch on his perfect ivory skin, her hands would certainly do no more than tickle.

But at least it would wipe the smug, amused look off his face.

Sucking in air to clear her head, Zora frowned deeply as she could taste the smoke tainting the air. New York’s air had never been refreshing by any means… but this made Zora’s heart wilt. Like earlier, her gaze fell upon the scattered ruins of her city, replaying a battle she had never wanted to be part of.

“It is ugly,” Loki stated from beside her, startling her almost to the point of dropping her tumbler. Thankful to turn her eyes anywhere but the disaster before them, she studied the god, a furrow between her brows that quickly morphed into annoyance.

“Our city?” Her irritation couldn’t be swept from her tone. “You’re seriously calling our city ugly right now, after you’ve essentially destroyed it?”

On second thought, why couldn’t she just try to strangle him with her hands?

However, when Loki turned his blue-eyed gaze on her, she realized she had miscalculated. “No,” he said simply. “The destruction. The ruin. It is ugly.”

He stated it so matter-of-factly, but if Zora wasn’t projecting – and that was a big if – he seemed almost… remorseful?

That didn’t align with the lunatic alien she’d come to know. The god who put his brother in chains, who led an army of disgusting alien creatures, who had popped up on the news station after he had successfully razed New York to the ground and proclaimed that he now bore the right to rule over Earth’s lowly mortals.

“Yeah,” Zora replied bitterly, inhaling still more smoke that polluted the air. “What you did to our city was ugly.”

He didn’t disagree, and suddenly, Zora felt petrified. Like a tiny little speck in a vast universe she didn’t understand at all. _You’re connected to things, Zora. Things you don’t understand_. Suddenly, that couldn’t have been truer. She didn’t understand any of this. Not at all.

Pinching her eyes shut against the thoughts, she forced herself to ask a question that had been needling her since she stood under the fluorescent lights of that grocery store and saw Loki standing there, at the very end of the makeup aisle: “Why me?”

His head canted towards her, graceful like a lazy cat. His eyes were utterly unreadable. “Pardon?”

“Why me?” Zora repeated, louder this time. “Why not one of the others? Not like I _want_ to trade places with them – better me than them, any day. _But why me?_ ”

The god before her grew eerily still. She had never particularly noticed, until this moment, how sharp his features were, how inky black his hair was compared to his flawless bone-white skin, how unnervingly blue his irises were, as if they didn’t quite match the rest of his character. His lips were thin, pressed into a hard, white line, but the rest of his face was perfectly relaxed and unreadable.

“Because, Lady Haque,” he said, and something inside her shifted at the way he said _Lady Haque_ without the usual ire or threat or taunt he spoke to her with. “The Norns are mysterious beings. Some things simply _are_.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was an answer, nonetheless. “I don’t believe in your Norns.”

He laughed. Genuinely. Some of the blue in his eyes lightened as his eyes crinkled. “Your belief in them does not grant them their existence. Their existence simply allows you the choice of believing or not.”

“Which is a smartass way of saying, _Your thoughts don’t matter_ ,” Zora muttered with annoyance, frowning down at her near-empty tumbler.

“In the end,” Loki mused, “do any of our thoughts matter?”

 

000

 

When he arrived in China’s capital later that evening, Loki kept wondering the same thing. When he prepared to execute the country’s head of state on their live television, he thought of the strange creature Thanos had made him procure. Her curious magical fingerprints, the singing miniature of mjiournir in his trouser pocket.

When he watched the Chitauri army march into the infamous Tianemen Square, prepared to isolate and viciously put down any form of resistance to Loki’s rule, he wondered if a version of himself who didn’t fall through the Void would’ve played at being king to a realm he had never had any machinations for.

Then he wondered if any of that even mattered, in the grand scheme of things.

As he remembered his fall through the Void, the answer he received was a resounding, fear-inducing _no_.

 

000

 

Zora tapped out a nameless rhythm with her fingertips, her eyes focused intently on the doorway. Five days had passed since her conversation with Loki on the balcony. Five days, and she had seen neither hide nor hair of the self-proclaimed king, the bane of her existence, the Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde of the Asgardian realm.

So you could say she was a little on edge. You could even say she was getting _nervous_.

Meals had been prepared for her three times a day, delivered by a thin-looking Chitauri soldier who spoke in rasps and grunts she hardly understood to be English, which in itself, was a surprise. She had been afforded supervised ( _extremely_ supervised) visits to the balcony, which she wholeheartedly took advantage of, if only to continue her surveillance of the soldiers stationed at the tower and their routines. All in all… she was being treated fairly. Well, even. Like a guest rather than a prisoner, if someone ever kept their guests more or less locked up inside their room for most of the day.

So it was only natural to assume that the other shoe was hovering high above her head, waiting to drop at any given moment. Loki’s absence only heightened that feeling. Hell, Loki’s absence was the precise reason for that feeling.

For a fleeting moment, Zora wondered if the others were disappointed in her for being caught. For being subservient to the very man who had nearly killed them all, who had taken Thor hostage, who had decimated cities and lives and uprooted reality as they’d known it.

Would they welcome her back into their strange little fold once all this was over?

Would all this ever be over?

 

000

 

Loki had been occupied with small uprisings springing up throughout the Chinese countryside when he’d felt it: a tiny, foreign pinprick of thought that beckoned him to the Void.

Keeping a scowl off his lips, Loki nodded brusquely at General Saadu before quickly transporting himself back into the former Prime Minister’s quarters in Beijing, hands clenched at his sides.

Thanos wanted to see him. And who was Loki, the puppet, to refuse his master?

The miniature mjiournir hummed quietly in his pocket, a balm to his frustrated mind. Before he could even think of it, he found himself curling long fingers around the strange object, feeling out its contours as if its simple presence could soothe him.

When he _did_ think of it, he released the item as if it’d scorched his hand and stared down at his palm like it was a foreign limb.

_What in the Nine Realms –_

A shooting pain at the base of his skull alerted him to Thanos’ impatience. If Loki waited any longer, he would look defiant. The time he had spent in the Void prior to his invasion of Midgard taught him what defiance would bring him.

Withdrawing into himself, into the Void that beckoned him, Loki blinked, opening his eyes to the lone fragment of space-rock on which the Mad Titan had built his throne. The Other trailed around various boulders that dotted the massive rock like some deformed lion, hunched and hidden beneath his black cowl. Despite not seeing a face, Loki knew the Other was watching him, scrutinizing his every expression, every shift. Waiting for a sign of weakness.

“You did not answer when called, Odinson,” Thanos’s booming, rumbling voice accused, dark eyes settling on the second Prince of Asgard.

Loki did not bat an eye. Appearance was everything. “I’ve been securing my rule over Midgard,” he answered smoothly, ignoring the Other’s leer. “It has kept me rather engaged.”

“So engaged that you cannot come when your king calls upon you?”

The fallen prince offered a contrite smile. “Forgive me, my king.  It shall not happen again.”

“See that it does not,” Thanos replied warily, shifting in his galactic throne. The full weight of his stare settled on the Asgardian, and Loki suddenly realized that whatever Thanos wanted of him now, Loki would not like it.

“The girl in your custody,” the Mad Titan said as offhandedly as if he were speaking of a pet. “Her time has come.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. The mjiournir resting safe in his pocket ceased its humming abruptly, as if it, too, hoped it had misheard the Dark Lord. “I fear I don’t understand…”

Thanos almost grinned. Or perhaps he was grinning, in that macabre way of his. A shiver threatened to run down Loki’s spine, but he steeled himself.

“Lady Death calls for Zora Haque, Odinson,” Thanos clarified, his lips twisting up into an ugly smile. “I trust you will handle it.”

For once, the trinket that had Zora Haque’s magical fingerprint on it did not croon to him. It was silent. Utterly silent. Something about the lack of the sound the god had acclimated to over the past several days unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

“Of course… my king.”

Blinking, he found himself back inside the Prime Minister’s quarters, facing a mirror placed over a short wardrobe. Loki stared at himself for several long moments, the silence enveloping him.

 

000

 

Zora was half-asleep when the door to her room flew open, banging loudly against the wall. Startled, she rolled off her bed and into a crouch on the floor, her hand seeking out a weapon that wasn’t there, her eyes sharp and alert as her heart fluttered like a caged hummingbird in her chest.

“Good,” the God of Lies said to her, tone curt, cold. “You’re up.”

Call it intuition or call it being bound to things she didn’t quite understand, but Zora realized that the other shoe was about to fucking drop. Right now.

“Loki?”

It was the first time she’d said his name aloud, and by the way he flinched, she wasn’t the only one who realized this. He stared at Zora as if she’d slapped him clear across the face, and Zora almost wished she had. Behind him, waiting impatiently in the hallway, stood a foursome of Chitauri soldiers. All waiting for their king.

And for her, she assumed.

Her gut clenched, _hard_. This wasn’t right. This was off.

The god’s wide, unnervingly blue eyes slid down Zora’s figure as she straightened up, taking in her thin tank top and small shorts. Zora wanted to throw her arms across herself like a blushing girl, but forced herself to remain still under his now-blank stare. She was more concerned with the nature of his midnight visit. Of the guards hovering in the hallway. Of the lump forming in her throat.

“Get dressed,” Loki said shortly, nodding towards her closet as if she were a dog playing fetch.

Zora didn’t move. “What’s going on?”

“I said _get dressed_ ,” he hissed, making the young agent’s blood run cold in her veins. “Or did your pathetic mortal ears not hear me?”

Alarm bells were ringing in Zora’s head. Slowly, she passed by the self-proclaimed king to reach her closet. After shuffling around for a moment, she slipped a pair of sweatpants on over her shorts and yanked a crew-neck over her head. Turning back to him, eyes wary, she asked, “Is his majesty pleased with this?” in as sarcastic of a manner as she could muster, gesturing towards herself with a flourish, trying desperately to keep her hand from trembling.

Her body seemed to know what was going on far before her mind did. 

“Shoes,” Loki barked at her, and Zora stared at him a moment too long before stuffing her feet into her favorite pair of boots. “Good.” Then he stepped aside and motioned for her to walk ahead of him, in the center of her supposed four-man escort.

The cotton ball dryness in her throat threatened to choke her. Zora stared at the waiting Chitauri soldiers, at the glee glinting bright in their black, beady eyes. Turning her focus to Loki, she watched as he didn’t quite meet her gaze. His bright blue eyes were staring just off beyond her shoulder, hard, impenetrable, blank.

Her stomach flipped, but she kept her shoulders back and didn’t let it show. As she stepped past the fallen prince, her arm brushed his, cotton meeting metal armor, and Zora realized just how breakable she was, in that moment. How easily crushed she could be. How very _mortal_ she was.

Assuming her place in the center of her armed escort, she forced herself not to look back at Loki as she followed the soldiers through familiar, winding halls. Recognizing their route as one that led to the rooftop, Zora ran through any number of scenarios that could play out in the next few minutes.

Was he handing her off to someone else? Had he decided she hadn’t cooperated enough with him and wanted to show her what the consequences would be?

Was he going to kill her?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Zora knew, instinctively, that this was it. Loki was going to kill her. She was being walked to her execution in a Hello-Kitty crewneck and Victoria Secret sweatpants.

She was going to die.

Sucking in a deep breath, Zora tried to find some of the resolve she’d had just a week earlier, at the grocery store just a mile away from the Avenger’s secret bunker, when she’d been more than willing to blow her head off to keep Loki from getting his hands on her. But her mind couldn’t reconcile the differences. At that time, she was trying to protect the others.

Why did he want her dead, now?

Zora stopped when they reached the main living space, the stairs leading to the rooftop just in view. She had halted so abruptly that one of the Chitauri following behind her rammed into her back, nearly shoving her off-balance. Steadying herself, she rounded on Midgard’s false king, her face red with anger, her eyes prickling with the onset of tears that she would not allow.

“Why now?”

Even to her own ears, her voice sounded numb. Defeated. Accepting. She was resigned to this fate. No amount of fighting, no finesse or fighting skill or strategy, could keep the Chitauri from hauling her up those stairs and to her execution. As Loki had said the other day, _Some things simply_ are.

Loki stood rigid some five feet away from her, his eyes on his shiny black boots, brow furrowed deeply. When it didn’t look like he would answer right away, Zora stepped towards him, only to be pulled back by an alien limb. “I asked _why now?_ Why now, huh? You’ve had me nearly a week. We had a deal. I’ve been cooperating, like you asked! _Why now?_ ”

When he finally looked at her, Zora felt the air leave her lungs. Unbridled remorse shone bright in his eyes, paired with sheer determination. A dizzying mix.

When he opened his lips, Zora was expecting an answer. A sound reason that could possibly explain why the god was leading her to her death despite their deal. Instead, he asked, “What are you?”

Floored, Zora nearly reared back and chanced bumping into another Chitauri soldier. “Excuse me?”

Having collected himself into his usual calm, superior manner, Loki approached her slowly. “What are you?” he repeated, enunciating each word, an undercurrent to his voice that made her wonder if this was something he _needed_ to know. Not simply wanted to know.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He was leading her to her death and he wanted to discuss _what she was_?

Just a foot away, now, Zora could appreciate how tall the fallen prince truly was. She craned her neck back to stare at him, bewildered, lips parted and anxious to shout and yell and plead. But she remained silent. His blue eyes seemed darker than normal. She felt like she was staring off into a deep abyss.

Shaking his head, to himself, she was sure, Loki motioned to the guards.

“This will do,” he said coldly, the remorse that had colored his gaze not seconds ago receding with every word.

Zora stared at him helplessly as she was forced to her knees. “Why now?” she asked again, realizing these could be her very last words. “Why _me_?”

He looked away from her and towards the balcony.

What had changed between the night they’d spoken out there and today?

“Sometimes, Lady Haque,” he said, slowly and quietly, as if it pained him to even push the words past his lips, “there are greater forces that choose which strings to clip and which to save.”

Her heart sped up. Her hands felt clammy. “Is that all I am? A string?”

Blue eyes met her green. “I’ve been wondering that.” Straightening up, squaring his shoulders, he looked every bit the monarch she had not seen him as. Cruel and all-commanding and ethereal.

Immortal, in the way she was not.

“It’s time,” he told her, tone growing softer, as if speaking to an upset child. “What shall I tell your Avengers?”

The god standing before Zora was too many things at once for her to get a good grasp on any of them. Remorseful and cruel and soft and sharp.

 _What shall I tell your Avengers?_ Not even a taunt. A final rite.

Zora swallowed thickly. Was proud that she met his eyes with such heat in her own. “Tell them to tear your world apart.”

And just as she expected to hear the chambering of a bullet or the swing of a blade, something else happened.

There was a _clang_ , outside, on the balcony. A whirr of noise so familiar to her, since the Battle of New York…

Iron Man walked into his lounge in full armor, his metal feet shaking the floor beneath Zora’s knees. “Don’t have to worry about that, kiddo,” Tony’s tinny voice said, a smirk clear in his tone. “We’re gonna blow this bastard back to the hell he came from.”

And as the rest of the Avengers filtered into the room, taking out the Chitauri hovering around Zora and finally, finally pointing their weapons at Loki, would-be King of Midgard, Zora realized that Loki’s expression had changed from cold and brutal… to relieved.

 

000

_Two Weeks Later_

“Yo, kid,” Tony said, passing through the kitchen with a bowl of blueberries in hand. His hair was sticking up every which way in typical Tony fashion, but Zora absorbed the details hungrily, still fretful that she’d wake up one moment and realize that everything since Loki had stormed into her weeks two nights ago had been a dream.

That the Avengers had never rescued her.

That she was still going to be executed.

“ _Kid_ ,” Tony said again, waving a particularly large blueberry in front of Zora’s face. She blinked and looked up at the genius, quirking a brow. “I _said_ , take the day off. Actually, I’ve said that every day since we got back. So take a fucking day off, okay?”

Zora rolled her eyes at the man and grabbed a blueberry out of his bowl to pop into her mouth. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she said dramatically, skirting around him to grab the bagel that popped out of the toaster. “There’s a lot to be done right now, Tony, and no one else is taking a day off.”

The billionaire snorted. “Yeah. No one else had to be shacked up with Reindeer Games like you. If it had been _me_ , I’d leave this place and never come back.”

“Well thank the _gods_ it isn’t you, Tony. Since you live here and all that.”

Natasha slunk into the kitchen, a tired-looking Thor on her heels.

Zora still stared at Thor like he might collapse at any moment, still remembered how dazed he had been, how weak.

She had never mentioned it to the others, and she sensed the Thunder God was grateful for this, in some way. He flashed her a bright smile.

“Lady Haque!” he bellowed, pulling her into a near bone-crushing hug. “And here I thought I wouldn’t see you before we left.”

Her heart clenched up. “You’re leaving?”

The tall, broad-shouldered Asgardian nodded grimly. “Indeed. It is time for Loki to face the Allfather’s judgement.”

As she was bringing her breakfast bagel to her mouth, Zora froze instantly and nearly dropped the damn thing.

Loki would be leaving for Asgard in chains. Today.

Staring back at Thor, she could almost _feel_ his hesitance to return to his home realm. Clearly, the Thunder God feared Odin’s judgement. And if Thor feared something like that…

Things would not pan out well for Loki.

Smiling at the future king of Asgard, Zora gave him another pat on the shoulder and slid past him. “I’ll see you before you leave, okay? I’ve got some things to do.”

 

000

 

Visiting the cell of the god who held you captive for nearly a week would probably be considered crazy by anyone’s standards. Visiting the cell of the god who had tried to take your entire _world_ over?

Zora wondered if some of Loki’s madness might’ve rubbed off on her.

Regardless, she swiped her security badge on the elevator and punched the button for Sub-Level Three, which had been transformed in the past two weeks to accommodate a certain godly prisoner and a round-the-clock security detail.

When the elevator doors pulled open, Zora stepped out into the now-brightly lit room, nodding at agents passing by her and the elite security team hovering around a group of desks that likely had footage of every angle of Loki’s “cell”.

Her feet pressed on of their own accord. Following a path she had followed once before, when desperate to see the Thunder God, when her fate had been so uncertain. So much could change in two weeks. So many new questions could arise.

                Things were still changing and new questions were still forming.

                When she noticed the long, pale fingers hanging from the twin bracelets holding Loki against the wall, she forced herself to keep a blank face. Deep inside, her stomach was in knots.

                Zora would never forget the way he had looked at her, right before he was about to order her execution. So regretful. So hesitant. But willing. Determined.

                Blue-green eyes landed on her, as sharp as ever. “I was curious if you’d visit,” he intoned in that deep, elegant voice of his, making the knots in Zora’s stomach squirm.

                Zora stared at him, gazes meeting levelly, neither willing to back down first. Now that her friends’ lives weren’t on the line, she didn’t feel the need to be demur. To glance down first or show any sign of weakness.

                Holding his strange gaze, Zora asked, “Why me?”

                Loki threw his head back and laughed, despite the chains holding him awkwardly against the wall. How he managed to look so much stronger than Thor had, she couldn’t imagine. But Thor had been locked up for weeks longer than Loki. The runed bracelets would’ve had time to slowly absorb his natural magic in that time.

                Right?

                When Loki’s eyes twinkled at her in pure mirth – as if he were not a prisoner, but some decorated guest – Zora had to restrain the urge to charge at him and wipe the look right off his face.

                “You’re asking questions that only the Norns have answers to, darling,” Loki finally said, after his challenging stare didn’t force her away.

                Zora canted her chin. “Then show me the way to the Norns.”

                He grinned, sharp, white teeth. “Here I was under the impression you held no belief in them?”

                “I believe you’re a douchebag and yet still you’re somehow also a god,” Zora shot back, teeth barred. “So I’m willing to have an open mind.”

                “How unfortunate for you, then, that you were doomed to have such a feeble, mortal brain.”

                Rolling her eyes, Zora stepped closer to the imprisoned god. “My feeble mortal brain is capable of recognizing your inferiority complex, but please,” she scoffed, “tell me more about how stupid you think I am.”

                “If only we had the time,” the fallen god said with a shrug of his shoulders, the chains connected to his wrists rattling against the cement wall. “Alas, time runs short even for a god, and the Allfather will ensure mine is even shorter.”

                Zora studied him carefully. “Sounds like you’re rather eager.”

                Loki’s smile was calculated. “What would you choose, Lady Haque?” he asked, nodding at her primly. “Imprisonment or death?”

                “Death,” she said instantly, nearly biting her tongue off to keep the word from escaping her lips. She grimaced, knowing, somehow, she’d said too much.

                Loki merely smiled imperiously at her.

                “You didn’t want to kill me,” she said abruptly. “I know you didn’t.”

                Blue-green eyes narrowed. “You claim to know things beyond you,” was his quick reply. “You’ve seen so little of the universe and pretend to know otherwise. Tell me, Lady Haque, what do you _really_ know?”

                _You’re connected to things, Zora. Things you don’t understand yet._

                She didn’t want to understand. She really didn’t.

                Instead, she raised one perfectly arched brow and returned the god’s signature haughty look. “Give me some credit. It’s what _you_ know that matters, isn’t it?”

                And she left him there, satisfied to have seen a spark of indignation in those strange eyes of his, suddenly perfectly content to have Fate leave her alone just a little bit longer.

 


End file.
